


My Brother, My Lover, My Best Friend

by o0kaymawn0o



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Bottom Sam, Demon Dean, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Hurt Sam, Jealous Dean, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Possessive Dean, Rough Sex, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0kaymawn0o/pseuds/o0kaymawn0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's hiding in the bunker from Demon Dean. Dean's on a mission to find him, his first objective being to kill him. But something takes over when he comes face to face with Sam--he wants to show him what him being a Demon might be able to do for their relationship, but love wins out in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Brother, My Lover, My Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ereynolds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereynolds/gifts).



> Set S10x03--there aren't any spoilers, other than Dean walking around with a hammer, and the use of human blood, so don't read if you don't want to, due to not having completely caught up with the show. :o That's really the only thing that needs to be said--just something that I whipped up, been thinking about something like this for a while, though; must admit that little detail! 
> 
> ENJOY!

The blood is pumping wildly in his veins, heart beating rapidly, past the average rate. He’s not sure if it’s from fear, exhaustion, or slight excitement. He can hear it in his dry throat, feel it close to his brain, almost physically see it in his ears. It makes absolutely no sense—not in the slightest. But it’s how he feels.

Years of training enables him to lower his breathing to a normal register. This is nowhere near his usual monster hunting gig by far. Honestly, it’s not even the typical monster. Although, Dean is getting closer to crossing that line.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, come out, come out wherever you are,” Dean practically sing-songs in his rough voice, the evidence of a smirk clear. Sam focuses his senses, trying to locate where Dean is at the moment. All he has to do is stay one step ahead of him. If he can do that, he can have Dean back in the Devils trap, and disease free of his current Demon—Sam’s sure of it.

“Aren’t we too old for hide and seek, Sammy? Or maybe this is Manhunt? What do you think?” Dean inquires, the sound of another door being kicked open evidence that Dean’s closer to finding him. “We never did have a place like this to play that game. Just motel rooms. Motel rooms with little to nothing for Sammy to hide behind. I used to make a show of taking ages to find you, when really I knew where you were in the first five seconds,” he drawls, smashing through another door with a rush of breath and a sadistic grin.

“But look at this place, Sammy. So many rooms for you to hide in. So many options for you to run to, all to get away from me. Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” Sam tightens his hold on the Devil-cuffs, momentarily peeking around the corner, careful of his injured arm. “Sammy, let me go. Sound familiar to you? I gave you that chance. You could have run with it, started a new life. You managed it before with that Bitch in Texas, or wherever it was. What was her name again? You think you’re some kind of hero, is that it? Trying to _save_ me? Do you know that this is the first time in thirty years where I’ve been my own man? Not even when I was with Lisa did I have this freedom. For once in my life, I’m being selfish. I’m doing something for me—“

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Sam snaps, cursing himself for getting riled up. He knew that’s what Dean was trying to do, pushing all the right buttons to get Sam to reveal his location. The echo’s from Dean’s footsteps inform the younger man that his brother is starting to get close. Sam needs to move to another spot without giving himself away this time—he’s not ready to exact his plan quite yet.

“Keep talking, Sam. How is that bullshit?” Dean asks with amusement, heading left. He continues to follow where the voice came from; wondering if this might just be a poorly constructed trick, with the intension of leading Dean into a trap. Dean rolls his eyes. As far as he knows, Sam’s not that good of an actor. That had been real—Sam had not meant to respond like that.

“Come on, Sammy. Enlighten me,” he husks, scraping the hammer that he picked up along the walls, hoping that the sound drives his little brother crazy.

Sam cringes. What could Dean possibly have with him? He knows that he can’t have the blade—Sam made sure to hide it in a place that Dean would never think of to look. So what the hell could that be?

“Aren’t you tired of all this? Hunting, pretending to be multiple things that we’re not? Don’t you just want it all to be over? It can be. Well, it could have been,” Dean ponders that, scratching the stubble on his chin. “But then you had to go and track me down, cuff me, and bring me back to this dump. Now, if you had left me alone like I wanted you to, maybe we wouldn’t have to go through this game of cat and mouse,” he continues to reflect, growing bored of this stupid game.

Sam feels sick. This isn’t his brother. He has to keep reminding himself of that. This is some imposter, who is using his brother’s body to cause misery and suffering to everyone. This has to stop today, and Sam will make God damn sure of—

“Do you remember the last time we had sex? I do. It was before the trails of hell. We didn’t need to say anything, and that was the best part about it. We shared a look, then it was game on. Afterwards, you passed out, exhausted from the many rounds we went, and I held you all night long, thinking about what’s in store for us, thinking about how we even managed to circle back to this after you got with that Texas Bitch—but you knew she couldn’t satisfy you the way I can; she might of thought you were a weirdo if you asked her to strap on a pair and go to town on your ass. So if you’re standing there, sitting there, lying there—whatever the case, don’t think for a second that this isn’t me. That this isn’t me fighting for my freedom—that this isn’t me being selfish for once in my life!”

The words stung, deep. It pierced Sam’s heart like a dagger, growing an array of thorns just to harden the blow. He just can’t believe that that is Dean. He can’t allow himself to go there. This cannot be the man, the brother, the best friend that he fell in love with all those years ago—he wouldn’t be able to go on living if that were the case.

In a moment of weakness, Sam reveals himself to Dean, eyes going slightly wide at the sight of the hammer situated in Dean’s rough hands. He manages to calm himself, locking eyes with his older brother.

“You said earlier that _that Dean’s bean MIA for quite some time now,”_ Sam reiterates, narrowing his eyes. “Was that all a lie?”

“Oh, see, you misunderstood me. When I said that, I meant the Dean that gives a crap about you, the world, and blames himself for all the shit in it—he’s the one that’s left the building. This is me. This is me taking all the world’s problems and shoving it up its ass, Sammy.”

“I don’t believe you. I know that the real Dean is still in there somewhere.”

“Well, looks like you’re not gonna have the chance to find out,” Dean says in a serious tone, moving with an unnatural speed. Sam tries and fails to see what’s coming next, releasing a groan of pain when his head hits a wall—he can’t believe that he was so stupid, hoping for even a second that talking to his brother face to face might actually have some sort of affect.

He tenses when Dean smells his neck, rough hands tugging his head, exposing his neck. “I’ve never forgotten how good you smell. Always thought that you were made for me,” Dean rumbles huskily, rethinking his plan for the time being. It’s been a while since he’s had Sam all to himself like this. There’s no restrictions, no self-will stopping him from just taking what he wants.

They stare into each other’s eyes, Dean’s emerald green turning black from the images running through his head—Sam’s ever-changing irises cold, distant, full of doubt and hostility towards himself for allowing this to happen.

Without meaning to, their breaths interlink, like they used to in these moments; these rare moments that they could find for themselves.

Dean smirks with smug satisfaction. “You never answered my question.”

“Which one?” Sam spits.

“If you remember the last time we had sex,” the older Winchester clarifies.

“Yes,” Sam finally replies, looking away.

“How good did it feel to be connected again, Sammy; to have me inside you—to have your name rolling off my tongue when my cock was inside your mouth?” Dean utters hotly, fingers starting to card through Sam’s long hair, moving to his neck to feel the pulse point, trailing gently—unlike how Sam ever could have expected in a situation like this one. It’s almost as if his Dean is reaching out to him, trying to show the love that he has—the love that is still there, no matter what this imposter says to him.

“ _Sammy, get away from him!”_

“I’m running this show, tough guy. Stay dead,” Dean bites back to himself, narrowing his eyes at his younger brother.

Sam manages a smirk. “Dean giving you trouble, _Dean_?”

“Not in the slightest, princess.”

As if to prove a point, Dean latches his teeth onto the hollow of Sam’s throat, sucking a mark into the skin that has the potential of remaining there for days, maybe even weeks. Sam berates himself inwardly for enjoying it, for actually leaning into it, offering more room for this Demon to devour him.

But it’s Dean. _His_ Dean. Sam can feel it in the way he moves, sense it in the way he stays above the line of too far. Maybe this is what needs to happen? Maybe this will be his way of getting _his_ Dean back? All he has to do is lower this Dean into a false sense of security. Then, in those few crucial moments of Dean’s post-sex high, Sam will make his move. He just has to make sure that it happens here.

“God, I’ve missed that taste,” Dean admits, bringing Sam crashing down to the floor. “Missed this body _so_ much,” he continues, tearing Sam’s clothes off as if they were paper, hands feeling every inch of Sam’s perfect skin, tracing the moles with his finger tips, leaning down to nip, lick and suck his marks into every available patch of skin.

“You know me being a Demon might not be so bad for us? Dean’s strong, with the Mark and all, but I’m stronger, faster, and I can do _things_ for you that he’s not quite the man for,” Dean almost purrs, licking a stripe from Sam’s navel, all the way to the centre of his clavicles.  “I can have you in all sorts of positions that he can’t. I can make you scream louder than he ever could. And I can make you come bigger and better than he’s capable of,” he says in a promising tone; admittedly turning Sam on, but he maintains that it’s because he looks, sounds and feels just like his older brother and lover.

For his plan to work, he has to make sure that he acts as though he’s really getting into this, though. So he plays it up, arches into the ministrations, rocks his hips to the rhythm of the pleasurable torture he’s experiencing.

“You like that, Sammy?” Dean purrs, turning Sam over onto his stomach, hissing out a short breath as his heated erection, covered by a layer of denim, brushes against the seam of Sam’s ass. Sam’s unbelievably fuckable ass. He takes a second to notice that Sam’s keeping his arm protected.

_“Don’t worry, I won’t put pressure on your arm, Sammy. It’ll be all right—I’ll be gentle—“_

_“_ Shut. The. Fuck. Up. This is my body, this is my mind, and Sammy’s not a delicate little flower!”

Sam pushes his ass back against the denim. “He’s right, Dean. I can take it,” he retorts, confused by the argument that Dean is having with himself.

“Hear that, _Dean._ He can take it, so why don’t you shut your mouth and watch how a _master_ performs,” Dean sneers, shucking his jeans off, not bothering with his shirt. He’s horny as all hell, and this has been a very long time coming.

Lucky for Sam, Dean keeps lube in his pocket. Ever since he left this dump, he hasn’t gone a day without it. Too many desperate girls who fall for his charm—he’d be a fool not to keep it on him at all times.

Sam hears the cap being open, feels the cold liquid rubbing in and around his hole. It’s been a while, but he can do this. He needs to this. _He sort of wants to do this._ No matter who’s taking the lead right now in Dean’s head, he hadn’t been wrong to say that it has been too long. So much happened after the trials, that they never had the head space, the stamina, or even the time to have sex.

When this is all over, they will have all the time in the world. And Sam will show Dean that he will always be here for him, and that he will always love him. He’ll tell Dean that he never meant to get with Amelia, that it had been a moment of weakness. She had been there for him in a time when he thought that he would never see the love of his life again. Sam will show him that he doesn’t hold any of what he has done as a Demon against him—everything will go back to the way that it was. It might not be the way that the world should be, but it’s better than the alternative. Anything is better than losing Dean.

Shifting his hips a little, Sam tries not to hiss when Dean sinks into him, not at all concerned with the size that he actually is, or that Sam doesn’t have a self-lubricating orifice. Nevertheless, Sam encourages Dean, rocking his hips back to start a rhythm, a rhythm that quickly escalates into hard thrusts, hands tightly gripping his rear, and more bits being layered over his body.

“Fuck,” Sam curses, staring to the side on the ground, taking everything that _this_ Dean is throwing at him. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It actually feels kind of nice. Nothing like it does with _his_ Dean. No one can compare to the man that he would die for—doesn’t matter if they are his replica; Sam is only faithful to one man.

“That feel good, Sammy? Been too long since you’ve had my cock up your ass,” Dean practically shouts, coordinating his hips, and driving forward in a swift motion, aiming for that one spot that will steal moans from Sam’s sweet, sweet mouth.

“Oh, fuck! Dean!” Sam cries out, apologizing telepathically to _his_ Dean—trying to communicate that even though this feels good, he still wishes more than anything that it’s with him, and not this look-alike.

Dean slams his cock in, hitting that spot ten times over, watching Sam writhe on the floor beneath him, spurred on by the stimulation Sam’s tight walls brings him. He pulls out momentarily, switching Sam over onto his back, clenching the soles of Sam’s feet between his hands, and forces them back until they almost reach the back of Sam’s head.

He lines up then, shoving back in with a brutal force, listening to Sam’s keening whines and moans, watching the sweat form on his face, creating the appearance of the younger man having just gotten out of the shower—an image that Dean holds dear.

“Nghhh... Shit...” Sam moans, wondering when he had the time to get this flexible.

“You were right, Sammy. Yoga _was_ good for you,” Dean says with a grin, pounding into Sam with abandon, channelling every bit of strength that he has into his thrusts, loving the way that his name spills out of Sam’s mouth. It truly is a sight to behold.

“D-Dean—I’m sorry... I’m gonna come!” Sam shouts, feeling terrible that this version of his brother is really getting him there, and getting him there this quickly—filling his walls with his brother’s beautiful cock, stabbing his prostate to no end, thrusting so hard that the impact inflicts on his perineum, only speeding up the process more.

“Come, Sammy! Show Dean just how much you love this,” Dean orders, thrusting in again, eyes blowing up with lust as rope after rope of come shoots from the slit of Sam’s cock, painting his stomach, chest and chin white—it’s beautiful.

Dean loses it then, growling animalistically as he thrusts in several more times before he comes deep inside Sam’s ass, collapsing on top of him from the workout, and the post-orgasmic high.

This is his chance. _Don’t worry, Dean. We’ll be together in no time!_ Sam forces himself out from underneath Dean, ignoring the hazy mumbles his older brother is producing. He snatches the cuffs from the floor, securing Dean’s wrists behind his back.

“Oh, come on! Really, Sammy?” Dean complains, standing up. He tries to spin to wail on the younger man, only to feel a needle full of human blood sticking into his neck, followed by a second, and then a third—suddenly his vision is blacking out. He fails to see the angel behind him, carrying the empty syringes.

* * *

 

 “I thought I lost you,” Sam says with concern, kissing Dean for all he’s worth.

Dean kisses back, pushing his tongue into Sam’s mouth, showing him without words just how much this means to him, and how glad he is to have Sam back in his arms.

“I love you, Sammy.”

Sam smiles, dimples flashing. “I know, Dean. I know. Can we just lie here for a bit?”

Dean holds Sam closer to his chest, kissing a patch of silky brown hair, inhaling the true scent of his little brother. “Of course, Sam. Just so you know, I don’t care about Amelia—“

He’s silenced by a desperate kiss. “Please, let’s just not talk about this now. I love you, Dean. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean agrees, casting his eyes in the other direction. Maybe he’ll never be able to get over what he did when he wasn’t quite himself. Who knows? But at least he has Sammy. His lover, his brother, and his best friend.

END

 

 


End file.
